


The Good-Morrow

by oliviacirce



Category: Points - Melissa Scott & Lisa A. Barnett
Genre: First Time, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:52:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviacirce/pseuds/oliviacirce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eslingen was silent for a moment, and then he said, "Make me a better offer, Adjunct Point, and we'll see."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good-Morrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misspamela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misspamela/gifts).



> Thanks to eleanor_lavish and mistresscurvy for everything, to Brigdh for the canon beta, and to misspamela for giving me the inspiration to finally write this story.

_I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I_  
 _Did, till we lov'd?_  
—John Donne, "The Good-Morrow" 

Rathe leaned against the wall and surveyed the crowd. This was the third celebration he had attended in as many weeks, and they were not getting any more pleasant with repetition. Tonight's party was at the well-appointed home of a guildmistress in City Point, and Rathe felt uncomfortable in his scuffed boots and shapeless coat, and hated the feeling. He was proud of saving the children; but it was one thing to deserve the credit, and another thing entirely to be paraded in front of landames and merchants resident like a prize horse. Unfortunately, that seemed to be his luck. Even though Coindarel had received most of the formal accolades, the city was still obscurely fascinated with the pointsman and the soldier who had led the rescue, and Chief Point Monteia and Surintendant Fourie had made it clear that Rathe himself had no choice in the matter. _Astreiant has never been happier with the points than it is right now_ , Fourie had said, when the first invitations had started to arrive, _and if that means that you have to shake hands and kiss babies and speak sweetly to their ladyships, Rathe, then you will do it; we cannot afford to waste this opportunity_. It was true, and Rathe knew it, but he still wished that staying in Astreiant's good graces involved rather more actual work and rather less standing around awkwardly at parties. 

At least there was Eslingen. They never arrived at the parties together, but they seemed to be receiving all the same invitations. Rathe didn't know if Caiazzo had given Eslingen the same orders that Fourie had given him, but it was amusing to imagine Caiazzo and Fourie having something in common beyond their mutual animosity. In any case, it could only help Caiazzo's business for Eslingen to ingratiate himself with the merchants and lesser nobility—though maybe that wasn't fair. Eslingen wasn't ingratiating; it was just that he seemed at home in these luxurious houses in a way that a common southriver leveller like Rathe would never be, for all that Eslingen was a Leaguer and Rathe was Astreianter born and bred. 

Rathe looked for Eslingen automatically, and found him halfway across the room, talking with a grey-haired woman in an elegant wine-red skirt and bodice. Eslingen's presence was the only thing that made these parties bearable—but it was more than that. They had worked well together this summer, fallen seamlessly into an unexpected partnership; but once they'd rescued the children, Rathe had thought that would be the end of it. He'd hoped not to see Eslingen in the line of business—not when Eslingen was Caiazzo's knife—and he'd had no real expectation of seeing him as a friend. They barely knew each other, and there was no reason to think they were anything more than temporary partners, thrown together by circumstances and the stars and separated just as easily. It was ridiculous to feel disappointed. 

Except here they were, thrown back together by the whims of the city; and the longer they circled each other, the more often they sought one another out at interminable events like this one, the harder it was for Rathe to ignore his attraction. 

Eslingen looked up, catching Rathe's eyes, and one corner of his mouth quirked. After a moment, he bowed to the grey-haired lady, one hand pressed to his heart, and began to make his way across the room. Rathe watched him, amused and charmed in spite of himself—Eslingen's manners were graceful, elegant, just a little studied, and he managed to cross the room without once looking like he had a direction, until he fetched up beside Rathe. 

"Hiding in the shadows again, Adjunct Point?" 

"Lieutenant Eslingen," Rathe said dryly, managing not to roll his eyes. "What a surprise to see you here." 

Eslingen snorted. "Is it just me, or do these parties get more unbearable every time we have to go to one?" 

Rathe raised his eyebrows, surprised, and turned so he could look directly at Eslingen. Eslingen's blue coat was beautifully cut, and there was fine lace at his cuffs. The ribbon holding his dark hair back in a queue matched the trim on his coat. "I thought you were enjoying them. Don't you like rubbing elbows with the aristocracy?" 

Eslingen gave a little shudder that was clearly playacting, but the look of distaste on his face seemed real enough. "Not in the slightest," he said. "The credit's one thing, but I could do without being a nine-days wonder." Rathe nodded his agreement, and Eslingen added sadly, "There's not even any food. You'd think Madame Bainard could afford to feed her guests, but there's just a lot of expensive wine, and those trays of tiny pastries that are too beautiful to eat." 

"Poor Philip," Rathe said, trying not to laugh. "Doesn't Caiazzo feed you?" 

"Yes," Eslingen said slowly, smiling with his teeth, "but I had rather hoped to get a free meal out of this Dis-damned party." 

Rathe did laugh at that, which made Eslingen's dark smile relax into a real one. "Can you leave?" he asked, more out of fellow feeling than anything else. 

Eslingen was silent for a moment, and then he said, "Make me a better offer, Adjunct Point, and we'll see." It was a clear invitation, and Rathe could feel his eyes widen involuntarily. But Eslingen flirted like it was breathing, easy and meaningless and natural, and there was no reason to think he meant anything by it—certainly not anything real. Rathe enjoyed his company nonetheless, however, and he would enjoy it even more if they could leave the party. Surely putting in an appearance would be enough for Fourie. 

"Dinner at Wicked's?" he offered. "I'll buy." 

Eslingen's eyebrows went up, and then he grinned. "That's certainly a better offer; I accept." 

"Caiazzo doesn't need you tonight?" Rathe asked, remembering with a flash of guilt that Eslingen served a higher master just as much as he did.

Eslingen shook his head. "I'm at liberty," he said, his voice carefully neutral. There was something in his tone that caught Rathe's attention, but he couldn't work out what it was; it might be better if he didn't know, anyway, in the long run. 

"Good," he said, instead, "in that case, let's get out of here." 

Eslingen laughed. "I thought you'd never ask." 

*

It was a long walk back across the Hopes-Point Bridge to Wicked's, but it was a nice night—true dark, with first sunset passed and the winter-sun not yet risen, but there were lamps lit in the houses and along the streets. It was still the height of summer in Astreiant, but the cool breeze off the river made the heat pleasant rather than oppressive. They walked in companionable silence, their strides matching effortlessly; Rathe was almost painfully aware of Eslingen beside him, the long lines of his body and the steady rhythm of his steps. For one dizzying moment he wondered what would happen if he simply stopped walking and backed Eslingen up against the side of a house and kissed him—and then a pair of gargoyles darted out across the road, checking Rathe and Eslingen for a moment, and he banished the thought as quickly as it had come. It was ludicrous, to say the least. Eslingen had never given any real indication that he felt as Rathe did, even assuming that Rathe knew how he felt himself. It was one thing to feel attraction, and desire, and a real wish for friendship, but there was also the part where Rathe had arrested Eslingen almost the first time they'd met, and cost him his job, and found him his place with Caiazzo, which put Eslingen almost entirely out of reach. What would it matter if Eslingen felt the same? Their lives were incompatible. 

He was still stewing when they reached the tavern, and Eslingen made a thoughtful, concerned noise when Rathe led him to a secluded table in the back. "Is everything all right?" he asked as they sat down. "You look like something's bothering you, Rathe. Is it a case?" 

Rathe shook his head, touched and annoyed in equal measures. "Monteia's barely letting me work cases—apparently my new job is to make the points look good, even though I would bet you every last demming I have that in another month we'll be back to being the villains of the broadsheets." He sounded more bitter than he'd really meant to, and Eslingen gave him a sympathetic look. 

"I used to think the points were useless at best and malicious money-grubbers at worst," Eslingen said. Rathe looked up sharply, hurt in spite of himself, but Eslingen held up a hand. "Hear me out," he said, and Rathe subsided. "Until I decided to stay in the city this summer, my few interactions with the points had all been immensely unpleasant. But now that I've seen more of what you do, I know it's important. Don't get me wrong, there are still plenty of useless pointsmen, and you've got your fair share of them at Hopes, but—your work matters, Nico. It's not well done of your Chief to keep you from it." 

"Thank you," Rathe said helplessly, feeling a little warm. "What changed your mind about us?" 

Eslingen raised one dark eyebrow, and gave Rathe a slow smile. His eyes were very blue. "I met you." 

Rathe looked down at the scratched surface of the wooden table, trying not to blush. He had no idea what to say to that, but he was saved when Wicked herself came out from behind the bar and over to their table. 

"What are you two having, then?" Wicked demanded, hands on her hips. 

"Is wine all right?" Rathe asked Eslingen, and when Eslingen nodded, Rathe ordered a bottle of the flinty white he liked, and two plates of the ordinary. 

Wicked rolled her eyes. "Treat your friend to something better than the ordinary, Rathe. I've a very nice mutton pie, and you can have that and a salad of summer herbs." 

"And what will that cost me, Wicked?" Rathe asked, resigned. 

"Nothing you can't afford," she said, and winked at Eslingen. Rathe put his hands over his face as she turned and walked away. Eslingen was clearly trying not to laugh. 

"How long have you been coming here?" he asked, once Wicked was well out of range. 

Rathe dropped his hands and shook his head, thinking back. "Since I was an apprentice, at least," he said, "so—a long time." 

Eslingen smiled, looking almost wistful. "There's never been anything in my life that's stayed the same for that long. It's the soldier's lot, I suppose—you never really have a stable home. I've never much minded, but I can't say I haven't wondered what it would be like, to live in the same place for your whole life."

"It's not so bad." It was equally difficult for Rathe to imagine the life Eslingen was describing; their ride to the Ile'nord was the farthest he had ever been out of Astreiant. "What was it like, on campaign?" he asked, and between Eslingen's stories of soldiering, and Rathe's stories about Wicked's, they fell into easy conversation until their food arrived, and all through their meal. 

Once they'd shoved their empty plates to one side—and the pie really had been exceptional, Rathe could hardly complain—and were well into their second glasses of wine, Rathe felt brave and stupid enough to ask, "Whatever happened with Adriana?" 

Eslingen blinked at him, looking surprised. "Oh, nothing. Devynck chased me away, and—I don't know. I liked Adriana well enough, and it might have been fun, but—" He shrugged. "I'd nothing to offer her, and no real wish to father children." 

"No?" Rathe asked, interested in spite of himself. He wasn't jealous of Adriana—there was nothing to be jealous _of_ —but he was curious. 

"No," Eslingen repeated firmly, narrowing his eyes. He studied Rathe for a minute, and then said softly, "I also find myself rather inclined elsewhere." 

"Philip—" Rathe started, and then the rest of the sentence dried up in his throat and he reached for his wine. Eslingen caught his wrist before he could pick up his cup. 

"Nico." Eslingen’s thumb pressed softly against the thin skin on the inside of Rathe's wrist, and when Rathe looked up, Eslingen's eyes were dark and serious. "If you don't want me, say so, and no hard feelings; but if you _do_ —" 

It was a terrible idea. Even if Eslingen was serious—and maybe he was; Rathe didn't know why he would be, or what someone like Eslingen could possibly see in someone like him, but Eslingen wasn't playacting, and he wasn't flirting, and the intent look in his eyes made Rathe's pulse speed up and his breath catch. But even if Eslingen was serious, there were other problems to contend with: Caiazzo, and Fourie, and their incompatible jobs. Rathe knew how much Eslingen liked working for Caiazzo, and Rathe loved his own job too much to give it up for anything; someday soon, he and Eslingen would cease to be the toast of the city, and any bubble of peace that could allow a pointsman and Caiazzo's knife to socialize would burst. 

Only maybe that didn't matter tonight; maybe they could—briefly, temporarily—take advantage of this fragile peace. If Rathe took Eslingen home tonight, maybe they could get this out of their systems and move on with their separate lives. He wanted rather desperately to know what Eslingen would look like in his bed, wanted to know if they would fit together there as seamlessly as they had in their working partnership. But maybe they wouldn't. _Maybe he's bad in bed_ , Rathe thought hopefully, and then rolled his eyes at himself; it was nearly impossible to imagine, but maybe they would find other incompatibilities as lovers. Then at least they would know. If it was just once, just to put paid to this inconvenient desire, then maybe—maybe that wouldn't be so bad. 

"Lieutenant—" Rathe began, and Eslingen dropped his wrist instantly; without Eslingen's hand, Rathe's wrist felt suddenly cold. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, "I didn't mean—I didn't know you wanted that." 

Eslingen sighed, and looked down at the table. Rathe was possessed by a sudden urge to free his hair from its ribbon, to watch it fall loose around his pale face; but he kept his hands where they were. "I've been throwing myself at you for weeks, Nico," Eslingen said, at last. "I thought you were ignoring me politely or something." 

"I wasn't ignoring you politely," Rathe said. "I just didn't notice. I never thought you actually meant it—which doesn't say much for my observational skills, I suppose." Eslingen was still looking down at the table. "I may have been too preoccupied trying to pretend I didn't want you," Rathe finished, a bit ruefully. 

Eslingen's head came up, his eyes wide and his lips parted slightly in surprise. "You—"

"Yeah," Rathe agreed. "So we're both idiots." 

"Gods." Eslingen rubbed a hand over his face. When he looked back at Rathe, his eyes were shining. "Does that mean you'll take me home?" 

"If you like," Rathe demurred, but Eslingen was already getting to his feet and reaching across the table to pull Rathe up with him.

*

Rathe's rooms were dark and close after a long day's absence, so he opened the shutters and went around lighting the candles and lamps. When he turned back around, Eslingen had taken off his coat and hung it carefully over the back of a chair, and sat down to take off his boots. He set them beside the door while Rathe watched, and then stood in his stocking feet. He looked incongruous next to Rathe's simple wooden table and chairs, like a statue carved out of marble. 

"Take off the rest of your clothes," Rathe said abruptly, before he could stop himself, but Eslingen just smiled and reached for the buttons of his waistcoat. He took his clothes off slowly, carefully, first waistcoat and shirt, then breeches and stockings. He folded each piece of clothing as he removed it, making a small, neat pile on one of Rathe's chairs, until he was down to his smallclothes. Then he caught Rathe's eyes and took those off, too. Rathe was breathing unsteadily by the time Eslingen was naked, and he couldn't stop looking at him. His eyes tracked over Eslingen's broad shoulders, the corded muscles in his arms, his strong thighs and narrow hips and the fine dark hair on his chest, and then, finally, to his cock, mostly hard and curving up against his stomach, as long and slender and pale as the rest of him, but flushed dark at the head. 

"Sweet Sofia, you're beautiful," Rathe breathed. He didn't mean it as a compliment, just as a statement of indisputable fact, but Eslingen shrugged and looked away. 

"So some have said," he said lightly, but there was something in his voice that sounded like disappointment. 

Rathe shook his head quickly, even though Eslingen wasn't looking at him. "That's not why—" he started, urgent. "You are, and you know it, but there are probably a thousand beautiful men in Astreiant. That's not why I want you." 

"No?" Eslingen was looking at Rathe again, eyebrows raised, but he seemed more amused than offended. "Why, then?" His voice was teasing, and curious. 

"You're—interesting," Rathe tried, and then winced. He'd never been very good at this part. "You're smarter than you like to pretend, and you've got this bizarre talent for getting yourself entangled in my cases—"

"It was just the one case," Eslingen muttered. 

"—and you're a good man, Philip," Rathe continued, ignoring the interruption. He knew it sounded idiotic, more instinct than evidence, but he still believed what he said. "I like you, that's all." 

Eslingen was smiling. "I suppose that will have to do," he said, and took three steps forward, until he was standing close enough to touch. Rathe put a hand on the bare skin of his waist, and Eslingen ran his palms up Rathe's chest to his shoulders. "Can I?" he asked, tugging at Rathe's coat. Rathe nodded, and Eslingen pushed it off his shoulders. He was as careful with Rathe's coat as he had been with his own, even though it didn't remotely deserve the care; it was oddly charming, but Rathe missed him when he stepped away to settle the coat on its hook by the door. He took the opportunity to remove his boots, though, and then Eslingen was back to help get his shirt off over his head. 

"Gods." Eslingen slid his hands over Rathe's shoulders and back down his chest. "I knew you'd be gorgeous, just as soon as I got you out of those terrible clothes." 

"I'm not," Rathe protested, unaccountably embarrassed, but Eslingen gave him a sharp look, his thumbs skating around Rathe's nipples, making them harden.

"You are," he said firmly. "You have these arms, which no one ever gets to see." He pressed a kiss to Rathe's shoulder and Rathe shuddered, unexpectedly aroused. "They're fantastic, Nico—like you could hold me down while you fucked me, without even trying very hard." The tone was light and teasing, but his eyes were dark with arousal, and Rathe's cock jerked against the laces of his breeches. 

"Would you like that?" he asked, breathless and a little overwhelmed. 

Eslingen stilled, and then gave him a hot look from under his eyelashes. "Yes," he said. "I would like that very much." Rathe swore under his breath, which made Eslingen smile, and then press his hand to Rathe's cock through his breeches. "I want to suck you first, though," he added, and Rathe closed his eyes and swallowed hard, trying to keep himself under control. 

"I think I could tolerate that, Lieutenant," he said at last, when he could make words again, and Eslingen laughed. He was grinning broadly when Rathe opened his eyes, but when he stepped back, Rathe said abruptly, "Wait." 

Eslingen stopped, head tilted in a question. Rathe shook his head sharply to clear it, and reached out to untie the ribbon in Eslingen's hair so that it tumbled loose over his shoulders, feeling like silk between Rathe's fingers. "Oh," Eslingen said softly, lips parted, and Rathe drew him in for a kiss, one hand caught in his hair. 

Eslingen sighed into his mouth and kissed him back, softly at first, and then deeper and wetter, until they were both breathing hard. Eslingen was wrapped around Rathe by the time they parted, holding tightly to Rathe's shoulders. Rathe's other hand had found its way down to the small of Eslingen's back, keeping him close. 

"Seidos's Horse," Eslingen said breathlessly, but when Rathe leaned in to kiss him again, he pushed at Rathe's chest with more than enough force to keep him back. Eslingen was a soldier; whatever else he might say, Rathe wouldn't want to take him in a fight. "Stop that, Nico, I want to—" His hands went back to the laces of Rathe's breeches, pulling at the knots. 

"All right," Rathe agreed, because he wasn't that much of an idiot. "Whatever you want." 

Eslingen made a thoughtful noise, low in his throat, and gave Rathe a predatory smile. "Maybe," he said, "or maybe it's what you want. Tell me what you want, Nico."

"Philip—" Rathe started, and then stopped, looking at Eslingen. What in Astree's name was he protesting for? He knew what he wanted, and it was evident that Eslingen wanted it too. "Get on your knees," he said, and Eslingen's eyes lit, bright as stars. 

He was on his knees a moment later, undoing Rathe's breeches and tugging them off, and then rolling down his stockings until Rathe could step out of them. Rathe noted absently, with what little room he had to think about anything other than Eslingen on his knees in front of him, that Eslingen seemed too intent now to treat his clothes carefully, and only tossed Rathe's breeches and stockings into a corner before settling his hands on Rathe's hips. He leaned in slowly, pressing a string of sharp, biting kisses into the hollow of Rathe's hip, and Rathe wished suddenly that he had something to lean against; but he stood his ground, and reached down to catch Eslingen's hair back from his face. 

Eslingen looked up at him, smiling slightly, and took one hand off Rathe's hip, running his fingers up and over Rathe's cock before following his fingers with his mouth. It started like a kiss, just his lips and then a flicker of tongue, which was enough to make Rathe let out an involuntary groan. Then Eslingen wrapped his hand around the base of Rathe's cock and slid his mouth down, swallowing him to the root. _Sweet Sofia_ , Rathe thought, reaching out blindly for something to hold on to. His free hand found the bedpost, but he couldn't bring himself to take his other hand out of Eslingen's hair; it had been a long time, and Eslingen was very, very good at this. After several long, hot minutes that seemed to stretch on forever and take no time at all, Eslingen tightened his grip on Rathe's hip, urging him deeper, and Rathe let himself thrust, very carefully, into Eslingen's mouth. Eslingen moaned around his cock, and Rathe's hand clenched in his hair. 

"Philip," he said, his voice rough. "Philip, stop." 

Eslingen made a low noise of protest, but sat back on his heels when Rathe tugged on his hair. "Why?" His voice was even rougher than Rathe's, and it made Rathe shiver. 

"I don't want this to be over yet," Rathe said, "and it will be, if you keep doing that." Eslingen frowned, shaking his head mutinously, but he stopped frowning when Rathe cupped his jaw, rubbing his thumb across Eslingen's mouth. His lips were almost impossibly red, and they parted at Rathe's touch. "Up," Rathe said softly, "come on, come up here." Eslingen sighed gustily against Rathe's hand, but he got to his feet and stepped back into Rathe's arms. 

With both of them naked, their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Rathe stroked his hands down Eslingen's back, and Eslingen tangled one hand in Rathe's curls and leaned in for a kiss. Rathe could feel Eslingen's cock sliding against his hip, hard and wet, and his own cock was pressed to Eslingen's stomach. He wanted more—if it was only this one night, he wanted _everything_ —but he didn't want to stop kissing Eslingen to see about getting it. At least not until Eslingen snuck a hand between them and gripped Rathe's cock again. "I thought you wanted something else," he said, and Rathe groaned and drew back. 

"You're a damned menace, you know that?" he said, and Eslingen grinned. "Get on the bed." 

"I live to serve," Eslingen said dryly, and then, "although I have to say, Adjunct Point, your bed is remarkably large. Do you have a lot of orgies?" 

Rathe rolled his eyes. "None to speak of, unless this counts." 

Eslingen laughed, delighted. "I'm told you need more than two people for an orgy, but I think I prefer it like this." He smiled at Rathe and sat down on the edge of the bed, testing the mattress. As Rathe watched, he made a pleased, surprised face and moved up the bed to lean against the pillows. "This is a very nice bed," he said, sounding impressed. 

Rathe knew it was; he didn't care very much for his clothes, but that didn't mean he didn't appreciate some comforts. "I like it," he said noncommittally, and went to root around in the chest that served as a nightstand. He was hoping rather desperately that the oil was where he remembered, but it had been a long time since he'd brought a lover home, and longer still since Forveijl, since anything regular, or serious, or long term. _Not that Philip is serious or long term_ , he reminded himself firmly. It was just this once. Just to get it out of his system. 

On the bed, Eslingen stretched languidly, bringing one arm up over his head and spreading his legs, and Rathe swallowed hard. There were more important things to think about at the moment, anyway, things that required his full attention. He found the oil at last; the green glass bottle was wrapped carefully in a linen handkerchief, still more than half full, and he breathed a sigh of relief and took it with him to the bed. Eslingen smiled up at him as he knelt on the bed between his spread thighs, and then he hooked one knee around Rathe's waist and pulled him down. Rathe braced both hands on the bed, holding himself over Eslingen as they kissed. He kissed Eslingen's mouth, and then he kissed down his jaw to his neck, until Eslingen arched his head back, exposing the delicate skin of his throat. "Turn over," Rathe said softly, almost a question, and Eslingen shuddered all over and did so immediately. 

Rathe took his time with the oil, opening Eslingen up with one finger and then two and then three, until Eslingen was writhing under his hands and swearing a steady stream of remarkably creative profanity into the pillow—Rathe might have laughed at another time, but at the moment he was entirely focused on maintaining his control, on not losing himself completely and fucking Eslingen right through the mattress. It wasn't the easiest thing he'd ever done, especially not when Eslingen gasped, "Seidos's balls, Rathe, just fuck me," and pushed up to his hands and knees. 

"Gods," Rathe breathed, and pressed a hand to his cock. "All right, yes, hold on—"

"I've _been_ holding on," Eslingen said furiously, but then Rathe leaned over him, pressing himself all along Eslingen's back until he could reach his hands and curl them over the carved headboard. 

" _Hold on_ ," Rathe repeated, and felt Eslingen shake beneath him. "Philip—"

" _Yes_ ," Eslingen said, and Rathe nodded against his back, suddenly too desperate to speak. He moved Eslingen into the right position, instead. He tried to go slow, at first, but then Eslingen started swearing again, and Rathe took the hint and thrust into him fast, one long stroke until he was all the way inside. "Gods," Eslingen moaned, sounding almost drunk with it, and Rathe pulled out and thrust in again. Eslingen gave a full-body shudder; his hands were clenched around the headboard, knuckles white, and when he pushed back onto Rathe's cock, Rathe grabbed his hips and held him down. Everything got a bit hazy, after that: Eslingen got loud, and then quiet, and then wordless, and Rathe fucked him, kept on fucking him, faster and harder as Eslingen urged him on, and then deeper in search of his own pleasure. Eslingen came hard, shouting Rathe's name—which Rathe hadn't expected, and that, as much as the feeling of Eslingen clenching around him, was what sent him over the edge into oblivion. 

He came back to himself slowly, draped over Eslingen's back with his face pressed into Eslingen's sweat-damp hair. Beneath him, Eslingen made a soft noise, satisfaction or complaint or both, and Rathe rolled off him. He fell back against the pillows with a quiet sigh; he felt—gods, better than he had in years, probably. Beside him, Eslingen turned over onto his back, stretching. He looked immensely satisfied—satiated, Rathe thought, and smug. Rathe felt obscurely proud. "Well," Eslingen said, after a moment. " _That_ was a success." 

"Yes," Rathe agreed, a little helplessly. He lay there for a minute longer, mostly basking, and then got up off the bed and went to the bucket, pouring fresh water for both of them. Eslingen accepted his with a smile and drank it down, and smiled again when Rathe picked up his discarded shirt and used it to clean them both off. Rathe was a little surprised when Eslingen didn't comment on the misappropriation of his shirt, but then he noticed that Eslingen's eyes were heavy-lidded, that he looked almost asleep, and he pulled back the sheets so Eslingen could get under them. The winter-sun had risen, but Rathe left the shutters open to let in the warm night air, and blew out the candles and shuttered the lamps. By the time he got back into bed Eslingen was asleep—or nearly; he curled into Rathe's side when Rathe lay down beside him, but his breathing was steady and even, and his eyes were closed. 

Rathe felt paralyzed, for a moment, but then he shook it off and put his arm around Eslingen's shoulders. Eslingen's dark hair was fanned out across the pillow, and in Rathe's bed he looked beautiful and touchable and soft, nothing whatsoever like a marble statue, or like someone Rathe couldn't have. _Just this once_ , Rathe had told himself, but he already wanted to do it again. He hadn't gotten Eslingen out of his system at all; he wanted to keep him in his bed all night, and all the next day, and see where that would take them. It was going to be trouble.


End file.
